Of Shards and Broken Mirrors
by ghosteye99
Summary: Mirror universe AU. Janeway is a slave on a Klingon ship stranded in the Delta Quadrant. During the long journey back, will she be able to get the help she needs to turn things around for herself … or will she remain at the mercy of her captors?
1. Chapter 1: Departure

******Title: Of Shards and Broken Mirrors – Chapter 1: Departure**

******Author: Ghosteye99**

******Canon: **Star Trek Voyager (mention of TNG & DS9 characters)

******Main Characters: **Janeway/Chakotay

******Theme: **Romance/Angst

******Rating: **PG 13+ (T)

******Summary:** Mirror universe. Janeway is a slave on a Klingon ship stranded in the Delta Quadrant. During the long journey back, will she be able to get the help she needs to turn things around … or will she always be at the mercy of her captors?

******Warning:** Slavery, mentions of (past) miscarriage, abuse & PTSD.

******Notes:** This is a mirror-verse fic very generally based on some key events of the original Voyager TV series. I've also decided to go with something different from a 'Living Witness' - style dominatrix!Janeway (at least for a while…), especially since most Mirror Terrans in the late 24th Century were either slaves or rebels anyway. And, as anyone who has watched any of the mirror episodes of DS9 will know, there are many subtle ways the mirror can reflect.

The Vulcan touch meditation is non-Canon, I made it up.

******Disclaimer: **Characters and setting belong to Paramount Pictures, not me. No profit or harm intended. This is a fanfiction, not Canon.

******Of Shards and Broken Mirrors**

******1: Departure**

**__****Korik Nor (Formerly Terran Starbase Deep Space 4), Mirror Universe, Year 2371: **

The three Terrans listened in the semi-darkness, as the sound of booted footsteps drew closer to their cell. Soon they could discern the voices – an unfamiliar Klingon-sounding woman, and an all-too-familiar Cardassian man.

Though all three were still weak with exhaustion from their day's work, they sat up - stiff-limbed and silent; straining their ears for any clue that those voices outside could mean anything that might be bad news for them.

The youngest of the three suddenly gripped her bench and began to breathe rapidly. The other woman quickly came over to her side, and took her by the shoulders, gently, holding her close before another panic episode could set in.

"Kathryn …" she said, as quietly as she could to the one who'd begun to panic. "Try to stay calm. You'll be okay if you keep calm. Shhhhh…."

Kathryn reached up, her shaking, work-roughened hand taking that of the other wonan's. "Beverly …" she begged in a whisper. "I don't want them to take me away again. Please don't let them see me. Please…"

"Keep calm … Try to keep calm…"

A man's voice, deep and clear, joined the desperate conversation. "Kathryn," he said, quietly, "If you'll let me …"

Kathryn nodded silently, her shaking quickly growing more violent in spite of Beverly's efforts. She was beginning to whimper. "Quickly, Jean-Luc." Beverly said.

Jean-Luc came around to face Kathryn, and gently but firmly placed his fingertips on the sides of her face.

"I'm not Vulcan, or a telepath, so I can't do this as well as one of them can," he said, "but this will still give you some help. Now … try to slow your breathing…"

-o0o-

**__****The corridor outside the cells:**

"My esteemed Intendant," Legate Madred said, "I still have one more Terran here to spare, if you're interested. A female … she may be worth considering."

"This'd better not be a further waste of my time!" muttered Intendant B'Elana of Empok Nor, as she followed the Cardassian down the corridor.

"I do believe that she won't be," Madred replied. "Though she may be slightly more … mature than usual for a general servant, she ___has_ still proven to be quite a remarkably versatile creature."

"The House of Khardron at Torik Station will not be impressed by the gift of an ageing slave." B'Elana snapped. "Exactly what qualities does she have, that could spare my honour and give me enough reason to overlook that fault?"

"For a start," he said, "She is quite a highly capable scientist, Starfleet trained …"

B'Elana spat past Madred's face, barely missing him.

"___Starfleet!"_ She hissed, at the mention of the Terran underground organization. "That is barely a qualification! When he retakes Terok Nor, the Regent will redouble his efforts to wipe that word from Terran memory. But as for you … ___you_ not only attempt to use me as a means for discarding your useless, worn-out chattel … you wish to include the most treasonous of those as well!"

"Oh no … I can assure you, Intendant, that ___this_ one has been properly broken in," he said, obsequiously. "I personally oversaw her retraining, and I can guarantee that she has been fully brought to compliance. Since we'd captured her from the ___ISS Al Batani_, she has served my staff for nearly five years now, and any will to rebel that she once did have now exists no longer."

"A mere five years ago, and Starfleet ___still_ had ships in your sector?" B'Elana sneered. "Surely your predecessor had gone soft!"

"That was only an ancient jumped-up raider that they'd given a big name to." Madred replied, "No doubt some Terrans are still clinging to a fantasy that the tattered remnants of their mighty army might still one day amount to something again. You know yourself how annoyingly persistent the Terran species can be, worse than the Vulcans, and almost as bad as the Trill."

"Don't underestimate the Vulcans," she said. "They can be dangerous in their own way. But tell me, before I stop and beam back to my ship … name other capabilities that your offering has. Ones that are worth considering!"

"She is still in remarkably good health." he replied. "You should be able to get many more years of service out of her before she'll be finally past work. She also has some artisan and performing skills that may be useful for entertainment … and she has shown considerable fighting and tactical ability as well."

"A fighter?" B'Elana exclaimed, and the young half-Klingon's scowl deepened. "How can you be sure that you have subdued her as thoroughly as you claim?"

"Let's just say that … every creature has its own point at which it's will breaks, and leave it at that…" Madred said.

Intendant B'Elana stopped dead, and raised her hand, signalling her two aides to do the same.

She spun around to face the Cardassian, her hands on the hilt of her blade. She knew Madred carried a disruptor (as did she), but at such close quarters, she had more confidence in her hand-to-hand fighting skills. After all, it was ___that_ which had helped her most to escape the future of slavery which would have otherwise awaited her, as a Terran hybrid. That, and her own street cunning.

"You had better not be planning to cheat me!" B'Elana said. "Tell me exactly what was done to her, and if her usefulness has been reduced by in any way …"

"I doubt it," Madred replied. "It happened years ago. When we captured her ship, she had a whelp in her, but she soon lost ___that_ while we were training her. I remember back then that she did start to get rather fractious … especially after we were also forced to eliminate her mate. Things did get quite messy for a while, and unfortunately we even ended up having to give her some treatments which may have left her sterile."

"Khardron has no use for a breeder," B'Elana said. "So I'll consider that modification to be a practical one."

"But after we gave her some … ___extra_ attention with her education," Madred continued, "she soon settled down, and we could finally mould her into a suitably docile servant. Though there ___are_ times when she still does get just a little panic-prone … but that's nothing that a hypospray or a firm enough reminder of authority won't fix. We've really hardly had any more trouble from her since."

"Perhaps with the right training she could also make a passably useful comfort girl." B'Elana mused. "For a Terran, what is your estimate of her attractiveness?"

"She has a certain charisma," Madred answered. "We're almost here; you will soon get the chance to judge for yourself."

"Charisma …" B'Elana muttered, "… another trait that cannot be trusted in a Terran."

-o0o-

**__****Inside the cell:**

The voices and footsteps grew closer. Beverly nervously touched Jean-Luc on the shoulder.

"I know," he whispered, concentrating. "Just a few seconds more …"

Kathryn had stopped shaking now, and her breathing was even. "I'm okay now, Jean-Luc." She said. "Thank you."

"Anything for a friend and comrade." He replied, taking his hands from her face, and giving his fingers a thorough rub to take out the stiffness.

"Jean-Luc, Kathryn!" Beverly whispered, sharply. "I think they ___are_ coming here!"

"Will you be alright now?" he asked Kathryn.

"Yes … I think so." She said.

The three cellmates quickly took their positions for inspection, sitting demurely in a row along a sleeping bench as the footsteps stopped outside their door. There was a few seconds silence as someone keyed in the opening code, and then the door slid open.

-o0o-

**__****Outside the cell:**

"Is ___this_ one it?" B'Elana demanded.

"I know she's not terribly imposing," Madred answered, "But she's…"

"She's ___puny!_" she spat, and then she addressed the Terran. "You! Terran female – yes ___you_, the runt! On your feet!"

In the dim, cramped sleeping cell, a thin, petite Terran woman with roughly cropped, reddish hair glanced nervously back at her cellmates, and then stood up.

"Step closer to me!" B'Elana ordered.

The Terran – Kathryn - obeyed. B'Elana could then more clearly see the long plasma-burn scars running down one side of her face. Oddly, they did little to mar her looks in her estimate. With the right training, she ___could_ make an acceptable comfort girl … should Khardron require one.

"Undress!" she ordered, wanting to make a closer inspection.

Without hesitation, Kathryn quickly began removing her clothes as Beverly and Jean-Luc turned their faces away, to give her some scrap of privacy. Madred and the Klingons, though, kept their eyes fixed on her; one of B'Elana's Aides even let out a low growl when she bared her chest.

B'Elana stomped her heel sharply into the instep of his boot.

"She is not for ___you!_" she snapped.

"Aye, Intendant" the Klingon snarled … but he bowed his head, and behaved himself thereafter.

Turning back to Kathryn, who was now fully naked, she said; "Hold your arms out from your sides, and slowly turn around!"

She did as she was told, and B'Elana carefully studied her, looking for signs of disease, deformity, conformation faults, signs of old injuries that might affect her working ability. Apart from cracked heels, some minor scars, calluses and a few scrapes and bruises of varying ages, she could find nothing seriously wrong with her… so far.

"Walk to the end of your cell and back!" she ordered. Kathryn did so, and B'Elana found no faults with the way she moved. She put the Terran through several more moves designed to reveal hidden physical flaws, but each time Kathryn met her standards.

"Stand still before me, Terran," she said, "And tell me your name!"

"Kathryn Margaret Janeway."

"Kathryn will be acceptable." B'Elana replied. "And an interesting voice. Do you sing, Terran?"

"No," Kathryn replied. "I never took it up."

"What other recreational activities ___did_ you take up, during the time before coming here?"

"I danced Terran ballet, painted, sculpted clay … played the clarinet, played pool, read books … played tennis …"

"Hrm…" B'Elana thought for a moment. "The artisan abilities might be useful. The music too, once we teach her a few Operas. The games and dancing indicate some practice with agility and aim … Terran," she said. "Tell me your age!"

"I am thirty-nine years old."

"Hurrrmm…" B'Elana thought again – hard. Thirty-nine; a good age to keep a Terran, if it was good, and well-trained … but a bad age for a new one. They tended to be much more stubborn by then, more cunning, more resistant to coercion, and far more set in their habits - and therefore, more difficult for a new master to break.

But a quick look at the Terran's face, and B'Elana saw the utter abjection in those wide, grey-blue eyes. That convinced her; this one looked like she really ___would_ make little trouble. She decided to risk it.

Turning to Madred, she said. "I will take this one. But," she added, "if she turns out to create more difficulties than she is worth, then I will send her back to you in pieces, as an indicator of how I will repay ___you _for your dishonesty!"

-o0o-

**__****Inside the cell:**

Beverly and Jean-Luc waited until the voices and footsteps receded, before they dared leave their benches. It was Beverly who rushed first to the tiny cell window, pushing the side of her face against the filthy transparent alloy, and straining her eyes to catch a glimpse of Kathryn.

Jean-Luc let her – she was younger than he, and her eyes a lot sharper. "Can you see her?" He asked.

"Just." Beverly replied.

"How is she holding up?"

"I can't quite tell," she said. "She's almost out of sight … and I can't see much past those Klingons … but she seems to be going ok."

"I hope she can keep herself together long enough to become accustomed to wherever she is going," Jean-Luc sighed. "Otherwise, they won't let her last for very long."

"You did a good job with that Vulcan touch meditation," Beverly said. "From what we could hear, she seemed to have gotten through that examination quite well."

"Unusually well," he noted. "But yes … it seemed to me that she ___was_ almost like her old self just then; the calm and self-controlled Kathryn that we first knew, before they broke her."

"That was terrible, what they put her through," She said. "Even by Cardassian standards. And she made it so much harder for herself by fighting back … I remembered wondering at times whether they were going to just save their time and kill her, like they did with her husband Mark. She only stopped resisting after losing her baby; that may have saved her."

"Mark's death was a dreadful waste." Jean-Luc replied, ruefully. "I personally believe that Kathryn herself was only spared because they'd considered her too useful to kill. Too good at fixing misaligned plasma couplings and stabilising warp cores. But sometimes, I admit that I've wondered if he was the luckier one of the two."

"Sometimes, I've thought so as well …" Beverly said, still gazing out the window. "… I wonder what will happen to her now?"

"If she stays with the Klingons, at least they will be more likely to kill her quickly should she displease them." he said. "And then again," he added, "from what I've also heard, the Intendant of Empok Nor is a half-Klingon woman named B'Elana. Empok Nor is not very far from Terok Nor, where I believe that recent Terran rebellion is still holding out. As you saw, that woman who came to take Kathryn didn't seem like she was fully Klingon."

"I noticed that too," Beverly replied.

"It is possible," Jean-Luc continued, "that Kathryn may soon be on her way to Empok Nor, close enough to where our rebels are. If she can keep herself from getting killed, she ___might_ get a chance to escape and join them."

"A slim chance, Jean-Luc," Beverly said as she turned from the window to join him on the bench. She put her arm around him, offering comfort. He returned the favour. "But still, she said, "We can only hope for her."

"That's all we___ can_ do," Jean-Luc agreed.

-o0o-


	2. Chapter 2: Living Cargo

**Title: Of ****Shards and Broken Mirrors – Chapter 2: Living Cargo**

******Author: Ghosteye99**

**Disclaimer: **Characters and setting belong to Paramount Pictures, not me. No profit or harm intended. This is a fanfiction, not Canon.

**2: Living Cargo**

_**Departing **_**__****Korik Nor, e**_**n route to Torik Station; in the slave cargo bay:**_

Kathryn was able to hold herself together while being herded onto a transporter platform along with Lyndsay Ballard and Frank Darwin, two other Terrans from her starbase.

They were beamed onto the Intendant's ship, and then marched down some more corridors to eventually be shoved into another cell, much larger and more crowded than the one she'd shared with Jean-Luc and Beverly. There would be no privacy, of course – _that_ luxury was not for slaves.

But soon after she got there, Kathryn felt herself slipping towards another breakdown. She knew it would be likely, having just been subjected to several triggering experiences. But at least she was finally out of sight of any Klingon or Cardassian for a while. The mostly Terran slaves who'd shared the cell would likely turn a blind eye to her show of weakness…

"Do you require assistance?"

…she looked up to see a balding, worried-looking Terran man crouched at her side. She hadn't noticed him approaching, but then she'd just curled herself up to ride out her panic – not the best of positions from which to keep watch.

"I'm … sorry," she said, trying to control her shaking. "I … get like this, it … passes."

"Then I'm surprised that you've survived this long." The Terran replied, lowering his voice to a terse whisper. "Your former owner might have let you get away with it, for whatever reasons he had, but I'll warn you now that Intendant B'Elana isn't exactly famous for her tolerance of weaknesses. If you want to walk off this ship alive, then you're going need something to help you to control those episodes, before the wrong people notice. Tuvok … please," he called out, "I've got another one here for you, if you're not busy!"

A tall Vulcan man stood up from the back of the cell, and stepped through the scattered crowd, over to where she was.

"Does she require a touch meditation?" he asked the Terran.

"I think so, it should do for now." He replied. "But she looks like she will need a mind-meld later, if you're up to it. I'm Dr. Zimmerman, by the way." He added, turning back to Kathryn. "I'm actually an exobiologist, but I've been the Intendant's slave medic ever since I was recruited into her hospitality."

"Kathryn … Janeway," Kathryn replied, "I'm a … cosmologist … but my former … owner … used me as an … engineer. Just … Kathryn's … ok."

"I will give you the touch meditation now," Tuvok said, "but before I consider the suitability of a mind meld for your disorders, I will need to talk more with you later, to determine the extent of your trauma."

"The … touch one's … ok…" she replied. "I've had it … before. It … helps me … breathe."

"Kathryn, I will require you to sit in a more upright position." Tuvok said, and after she did so, he knelt in front of her, placing the tips of his fingers on the right points of her face.

"Concentrate on my touch," he ordered – and she did, as she'd done before with Jean-Luc.

"Listen only to my breathing, and match my breaths with yours." he said. Kathryn did as he asked.

…then, she felt _something_ enter her mind – at first, she wanted to get up and run … but then, it seemed like a cool, gentle breeze began to waft upward through her body, pushing away the heavy panic emotions as it went.

It was the first time in her life she'd experienced a telepathic projection. _Now_ she knew what Jean-Luc meant, when he'd said that a Vulcan would have helped her better.

The tightness left her chest in an instant, and her breathing eased. Her shaking slowed.

"Thank you, Tuvok, I…" she began to say…

"Please maintain your concentration!" Tuvok ordered. "This is not complete. Concentrate on my touch, listen only to my breathing … and match my breaths with yours."

-o0o-

_**On the bridge:**_

"The shipment is ahead of schedule, General," B'Elana said, to the greying Klingon man on her main viewscreen. "I have already taken on some cargo from Korik Nor, and according to your wishes I will have time to make a detour to Gornotk starbase, where I will give a Vulcan to Intendant Mavine, and receive the crew of the Terran rebel ship _Val Jean_. From there, I will be proceeding directly to Torik Station."

"Be wary, Intendant." General Korr said. "There have been increasing reports of unexplained ship disappearances in the past few months, and your route will take you through two of the regions where that has been occurring more frequently."

"The _Leng_ is a fast ship," B'Elana replied, "faster than any other of ours, and a new one. It has the latest and the best in weapons and cloaking technology that the alliance has to offer, and it will not fail us on its first voyage."

"Still, we do not know what is the cause of these disappearances," Korr said. "So I advise that you cloak as soon as you go to warp, and to activate your scanners on the highest level until you are out of the areas indicated on the maps I have sent you."

"I will do as you advise," B'Elana said, "but whatever this is, I do not fear it."

"Strong ships and strong warriors are what maintain our Alliance against its enemies," Korr replied. "Save your strength for the battles that will come, and take the path of caution otherwise – for I have reason to believe that the Regent will soon have greater need of the_ Leng_ and its captain."

"The ship and its cargo will be delivered to Intendant Khardron, as planned," she said, aware of what Korr meant; that it was Khardron, not her who was to be the _Leng's_ intended commander. She was only in charge until the new ship was delivered to him.

"That is good," Korr replied. "And when this is finished, I shall see to it that you are suitably rewarded for this errand."

-o0o-

_**In the cargo bay:**_

Kathryn got to know more of her cellmates as time went on. Harry Kim, a fellow Terran, seemed friendly enough at first - but she soon learnt that his heart was consumed by a desire for vengeance - and she was quick to allow him his space.

Vorik, a young Vulcan, kept mostly to himself - preferring to meditate rather than socialise. There were two others of the same kind; a man and a woman, but they kept themselves even more aloof than Vorik, and Kathryn didn't get much chance to learn their names. There were also two Betazoid women - quiet Juliet, and Stadi, who was more outgoing and outspoken.

Among the other Terrans was a gloomy, sharp-tongued woman by the name of Samantha Wildman, who had - like Harry - survived the recent slaughter of her own family; her Ktarian husband and their young son. She was younger than Kathryn, but only by a few years. Like Harry, she preferred to be left alone.

Kathryn could understand. Though both were now more than five years dead, she still keenly felt the loss of her own child; and of Mark … and even now, it was rare for a day to pass when she did not grieve for them in some way. She knew Samantha and Harry would need time, before either would be ready for befriending strangers such as herself.

There was Megan and Jenny Delaney; twin sisters - and tall, fair haired Annika Hansen. The three of them stuck together in a clique, spending most of their time fussing over Jenny's infant son, and trying to keep him quiet and safe. From overhearing snatches of their conversations, she suspected they'd all been set aside out to be trained for comfort service.

Finally, there was Michael Cavitt – a solid, streetwise, grey-haired man who would always change the subject when asked about his own past … but in a universe where most of her kind lived in slavery, Kathryn knew that could mean many things, and was not to always be taken as a cause for suspicion.

In spite of his gruff manner and often cynical words, it turned out that Michael was among those who took the most genuine interest in Kathryn's welfare, and was one of those most most willing to listen when she wanted to talk about things, and who'd often be the first to steady her whenever the panic threatened to return – which was now happening far less often, thanks to Tuvok's help.

Eventually, she began to seek out his and Stadi's company - and Tuvok's too, whenever the Vulcan was free. Though she still missed Bevery and Jean-Luc terribly, the presence of new friends helped eased the ache, and strengthened her will to keep surviving.

-o0o-

One day, Kathryn found herself waking unexpectedly early. "Do not be afraid," Tuvok said, taking his hand from her shoulder. "It was necessary that I wake you before the others, so that we will not be disturbed. It is time to take the meld that will strengthen you. I have prepared myself, and I trust that you will have done the same."

"I … haven't really been preparing myself," Kathryn replied, worried.

"By my observations, I believe that you have." He said. "You have become sufficiently more relaxed in these surroundings than you were when you came on board. You have also spoken freely with myself and Mr. Cavitt, enough that I now have a basic knowledge of your past, and how it has affected your emotions. And," he added, "I also have reason to believe that my own circumstances may soon change, and therefore the opportunity for us to undergo this meld will soon be gone. If I am to help you to become stable enough to survive for the longer term, then we must do this now."

"The mind meld…" she said.

"Are you prepared?" he asked.

Kathryn hesitated for a moment, and then said; "yes. I am."

Tuvok knelt before her, and she sat up to face him. "Clear your mind," he said to her, taking her face in his hands, "and we will begin."

Her mind was racing, but she did her best to still it. In silence, they concentrated together…

"_My mind to your mind_," Tuvok intoned, "_your thoughts to my thoughts_."

Once again, she felt the cool, calming tide of Tuvok's thoughts well up into her consciousness. She willed her mind to stay open as she felt that tide begin to fill her, more than it had before...

-o0o-

_**On the bridge of the Leng, at Gornotk Starbase:**_

"These are the rebels," Intendant Mavine said, switching the viewscreen so that B'Elana could see the motley jumble of humanoids bunched together in a cargo bay.

Two of the Terran males caught her eye - a tall, powerfully built dark haired one with a tattooed face, and a younger, fair haired one; nearly as tall, though less solid. By watching their posture and the way they moved, she could detect more confidence – and therefore defiance - in those two than the others.

Though they were intended for processing when they got to Torik, B'Elana was on the lookout for new slaves for herself - including comfort men, and she was already wondering about ways she could single out those two for her own use. The fair one particularly caught her eye though she wanted them both – younger Terrans were always so much more pliable …

… She abruptly stopped _that_ thought, and mentally reprimanded herself for desiring a male of a weak species. That was well enough for a man, but unseemly for a woman of strong species to chance tainting her flesh with inferior seed should she get with child; B'Elana, with her own questionable heritage, was very aware of the need to bring honour back to her line. Though maybe, she could find some other fulfilling way to use him...

"We have already begun to salvage their ship and their personal possessions," Mavine continued, bringing B'Elana's mind back to her duties, "And if you are interested, there are still a number of items left."

"Are there weapons among them?" B'Elana asked. "Strong beverages, wine? If so, then I am interested – and if you require another Vulcan for barter, then I have three more to spare from which you may choose."

"There are some phasers and disruptors, two of them vintage." The Cardassian woman replied. "The rest are mostly clothes, decorations, a portable replicator and some medical equipment. Oh … and a kind of animal skin wrap, with a rather odd little device among the debris we found inside it. It belonged to the rebel captain, the one with the tattoo. Apparently, he used it for inducing hallucinations to assist with his decisions."

"Terran P'TaQ!" B'Elana spat. "Using machines to ease their visions … no wonder we conquered them so easily! What further depravities will they next invent?"

"He was quite attached to it." Mavine noted.

"Like any addict would be to their habit," B'Elana replied. "Still, as a valued possession of a captured leader, it could still be of use as another means of influencing his behaviour … at least until we reach Torik, when I will be rid of them."

"Then I'll just freeze the bidding …" Mavine tapped a few commands on her PADD. "Now, if you'll come this way, I can show you the goods and we can negotiate a price."

-o0o-

_**En route to Torik Station; in the cargo bay:**_

As the journey continued, Kathryn began to better accustom herself with her changing situation. Though she had never been religious, there came a moment when she'd quietly given thanks to what powers there be in the heavens for her luck … so far.

They stopped briefly at Gornotk, an alliance starbase, to drop off two of the Vulcans – Tuvok, and the woman – and to pick up a crew of freshly captured Terran rebels.

Kathryn would miss Tuvok. In the short time she'd known him, he'd done so much to help her, and yet she still knew so little about him. She regretted the lost chance of friendship, but the extra self control he'd lent her through the mind meld helped – and there were other things happening on the ship now that she could not afford to ignore.

The arrival of the rebel crew, for one thing.

The slave rumour-mill was proving to be unusually reliable on this ship. She knew these new arrivals would be held in a separate cargo bay, lest they undesirably influence the other slaves. They were to be processed when the ship reached its destination. when the unsuitable would be destroyed, and the rest sold off.

Kathryn managed to catch a glimpse of them as the Klingon and Bajoran guards herded them past her cell window – most seemed Terran, though she noted a heavyset Bolian man – his blue skin standing out against the black, brown and pink of the others. There was also a fair haired, sullen-faced man who seemed to have a Betazoid's black eyes.

A tall, dark-haired Terran with a tattooed face seemed to be their leader. He was more heavily chained than the others, and had been fitted with a pain band - but Kathryn could see, by his posture and expression, that he was yet to be fully broken. His still whole spirit woke both admiration and fear in her – the fear was_ for_ him, for she knew herself, from direct experience, the brutal soul-breaking that would soon await him.

It hadn't paid for _her_ to be strong after her capture, and she knew that he would soon have to learn likewise, or die. Mark had refused that lesson, and paid the price. In these times, she knew, those who were quick to kneel down always fared better. She wondered if he would allow himself to be broken, or whether he – like Mark – would choose death instead. Not for the first time, she wished that the Cardassians back on Korik Nor had allowed _her_ that choice.

Kathryn also found out that the ship they were on was called the '_Leng_' - meaning 'Voyage' in Klingon. At the time, she attached little importance to that fact.

What was more important to her was that the _Leng_ was a new ship; a long-range Vor'cha class battle cruiser with many state of the art modifications to its weapons, propulsion and computer systems. It was also fast. Rumour had that, unlike previous ships of its class, the _Leng _was nearly capable of reaching warp ten.

If all that was so … then Kathryn feared gravely for the Terran rebellion.

-o0o-

_AN/ Mirror!Tuvok was dropped off because he appeared in an episode of DS9, and I want to maintain at least a small nod to screen Canon._


	3. Chapter 3: Displacement

**Title: Of ****Shards and Broken Mirrors – Chapter 3: Displacement**

**Note: **I've gone over several possibilities with the plot, and have decided to go back to the original idea, which is to loosely follow the events of the TV series. Lazy, I know, but I think it'll be more fun as well.

**Disclaimer: **Characters and setting belong to Paramount Pictures, not me. No profit or harm intended. This is a fanfiction, not Canon.

**3: Displacement**

_**Twelve days later, on the Bridge of the Leng, en route to Empok Nor:**_

"Captain," the Cardassian at the communications station said, "I have detected a long-range tachyon beam. It appears to be scanning us!"

"Source?" B'Elana asked.

"As yet unknown, Captain!" she replied.

"Can you block it?".

"No," she said. "I have just applied three jamming programs, and it is still scanning us."

"Re-phase the cloaking device!" B'Elana ordered her tactical officer.

"Cloaking device re-phased," the Klingon replied.

"It is still scanning us!" the communications officer said.

"What …is … this?" B'Elana snarled quietly, to herself.

"We don't know," the communications officer replied. "I am trying to find out more."

"Go to red alert!" B'Elana ordered, and then turned back to the Cardassian. "Seska, I want an estimate of the source of that beam."

"I'm working on it, Captain." Seska replied as her hands darted frantically back and forth over her console. "The vector indicates that the beam could be coming from somewhere in the badlands beyond Terok Nor."

"Where many Terran rebels are hiding," B'Elana noted. "Yet how have they managed to obtain such technology? The best of our scientists have yet to develop a device that can create a tachyon beam of such sophistication."

"They could have been trading with aliens from the Gamma Quadrant," Seska suggested. "No Terran ship would be sound enough to survive the wormhole, but there could be civilizations on the other side with vessels that could. If any one of them made contact with the Terrans first, and were persuaded to become sympathetic to them, they would…"

"They would require things of suitable value to trade with the Terrans," B'Elana cut in, "but what? The Terrans have few luxuries, and less Latinum ... assuming that the aliens would even know of such things as Latinum, let alone value it."

"Information," the tactical officer growled, "Captain, if I may speak …"

"Speak, Gorok!"

"…If the Terrans are responsible for this beam," Gorok replied, "and if they did obtain it from the Gamma Quadrant, they would already have something valuable enough to use for such a trade. They would have information … information about our Quadrant, our alliance and our technology."

"Information is far more desirable than Latinum," Seska muttered as she studied the beam. "Especially to any alien species who may have an interest in conquering this Quadrant."

"Then we must take this as a sign that the Alliance must do more prepare itself from threats from other Quadrants," B'Elana said. "I will later prepare a submission to our Regent to consider. He will be very interested in finding whoever owns the source of this beam."

"Captain," Seska asked, "perhaps we could take the rebel captain to the brig for questioning. If this does have anything to do with the Terran rebellion, he may know something about it."

"Agreed," B'Elana replied, and tapped an in-ship hail into her console. "_Cargo bay here_," a male Cardassian voice replied over the comm.

"Go to the main slave hold and get one of the Betazoids. Then take two guards and bring the rebel captain to the brig," she ordered, "I intend to interrogate him."

"_Aye Captain_."

B'Elana rose from her chair. "Gorok, you have the bridge until I return!" she said, "Seska, continue to monitor the tachyon beam, and if you detect any change report it to me immediately!"

-o0o-

_**In the cargo bay:**_

Stadi was showing Kathryn how to hand-knot a rope from the long, fibrous grasses used to fill the thin mattresses that the slaves slept on, when the cargo bay door suddenly opened. Kathryn discreetly dropped from a crouch to a sit, so as to conceal the Betazoid's handiwork from the Cardassian guards in the doorway.

"You, Betazoid!" one of them said, gesturing to Juliet Jurot, who'd been quietly sitting with Samantha on the other side of the room; "you are to come with us!"

As Juliet got up to obey, Stadi also stood up, and stepped forward to where the guards could easily see her. "Perhaps I could serve you better, sirs!" she boldly said to them, whilst striking a provocative pose.

The Cardassian glared at her, but his annoyance soon changed to a different emotion as his eyes wandered up and down her body. "Very well," he said, "you will do. Come!"

When Stadi and the guards were out of the room and the hold door closed, Kathryn took a few deep breaths to steady her nerves enough to walk steadily again, then she quickly stuffed the unfinished rope back into the mattress, and walked over to the wall against which Samantha and Juliet were still sitting.

"Why all the sudden friendliness, whoever you are?" Samantha snapped, without taking her eyes off the floor.

"My name's Kathryn Janeway," Kathryn replied, in the most polite tone she could muster. "Remember me? I was one of the slaves from Korik Nor, though I was originally captured from the _ISS Al Batani_. I'm a Starfleet Lieutenant, and I …"

"Don't try to suck up to me with your Starfleet Brass-talk," Samantha shot back.

"I didn't mean to…"

"No, people always say they never mean to, but they still do it!"

"Do what?" Kathryn pleaded, now utterly confused.

"Just shut up and leave me alone!" Samantha spat.

"Okay," Kathryn replied, getting up to leave; "…I'm going, if that's what you want. I'll see you later."

Samantha didn't even look up as Kathryn left. When she was almost back to her mat, she felt a hand on her arm, and startled, she spun around … to see Juliet's concerned face. "Come with me," the Betazoid said, quietly as she steered her behind a large knot of chattering Terrans towards a wall where Cavitt and Vorik were talking. "There's some things about Samantha Wildman that you will need to know."

"About why she's so anti-social? All I did was come up to her, and she bit my head off!"

"There is a reason for her behaviour."

"Why did Stadi offer herself to go in your place?" Kathryn asked.

"In case that visit was a comfort-call for one of the Klingons," Juliet replied; "We've both served comfort duties in the past, I'm ok with Cardassians, but Stadi can please a Klingon much better than I can. A lot of the guards on this ship look rougher than usual, and she's been worrying that one of them might hurt me."

"Will she be all right?"

"She should be," Juliet replied, "Stadi is strong, and she usually knows what she's doing."

-o0o-

_**In the brig:**_

B'Elana stood before the chained Terran behind the forcefield. Face-to-face, he was even more imposing than the hulking figure she'd watched on the viewscreen. In spite of her better judgement, she couldn't help letting her eyes wander down his form, casually assessing what she could see of his strength, virility and fitness. Not for the first time in her life, she wished that Terrans were an honourable enough species for her to take as a mate …

"Enjoying the view, Klingon woman?"

B'Elana's eyes snapped back up to the prisoner's face. "I am the Captain of this ship, slave!" she spat. "You will treat me accordingly!"

"Of course … _Captain!_" the prisoner tersely replied.

"Your name, Terran!"

He glared at her silently.

"Guards," B'Elana ordered, "hand me a pain stick. Terauk, set your disruptor to maim and prepare to accompany me into the brig."

"Chakotay." The prisoner replied. "My name is Chakotay."

"And your other names?"

"I have no other names," Chakotay replied. "Only the one that I've given you."

"How can that be? Surely you come from a clan, a house or other kind of extended family. All civilized species do, even your filthy kind. I am not ignorant of Terran customs, slave. You will give me your middle name and your clan name as well, P'Taq!"

Chakotay squared his shoulders. "I am a Mayan, of the Rubber-tree people of the Yucatan peninsula on Terra." he said, flatly. "It is not the custom of my tribe for individuals to take many names. We have other ways of reminding ourselves of our family connections."

"I do not believe you," B'Elana said, "this is the first time that I have heard of a so-called 'rubber-tree' tribe existing among Terrans."

"Well, now you know," he replied. "There's a first time for everything."

"You, Betazoid. Over here!" she snapped, turning to a dark haired slave standing behind the guards. "Is he lying?"

"No," Stadi truthfully answered. "He speaks the truth."

"I will check the both of you to see if either of you are deceiving me!" B'Elana replied, still unconvinced. She wondered why the Terran captain was so desperate to protect his clan by refusing to name it. She longed to punish him for his insolence, but she was also keenly aware that their ship was still being scanned.

"I've heard rumours of tachyon scanners falling into rebel hands," she calmly said, changing the subject. Behind her, the Klingon and Cardassian guards remained impassive, playing along with her bluff. It must have worked, for suddenly Chakotay looked startled.

"Tachyon scanners?" he asked. "What ones … where?"

"The ones that your fellow rebels are hiding in the Badlands!" she replied. "Like the one that is now scanning this ship!"

"We have no such devices," Chakotay said. "The Badlands are too many light-years away for even the subspace scanners we have. I don't know of any species that has yet developed such advanced technology!"

"And yet the device exists, and is scanning us from the badlands as we speak," B'Elana said. "So I shall remain sceptical of your claims. I doubt that your kind would have the means to create such things, but perhaps you have been trading with some new-found allies in the Gamma Quadrant"?"

"That is ridiculous!" Chakotay retorted, "that's just like saying that we've been trading with the Borg!"

"The Borg are a myth!" B'Elana replied with a snort of contempt. "Mere figments from silly tales to frighten misbehaving children. However, the wormhole to the Gamma Quadrant is real, as is whatever exists on the other side of it!"

"Captain…" Chakotay said, and Stadi stepped forward. "…he's speaking the truth. He does not know of such technology, nor does anyone he knows. And neither has he made any new alien alliances. But he wants to tell you something important about that beam …"

"Silence!" B'Elana snarled; "if you speak out of turn again, I will give you to Levored for his pleasure!"

Stadi blanched and staggered back in shock, well aware of that Cardassian's often fatally brutal proclivities that he _usually_ took out on holograms. "Y… yes … C ... captain …" she stammered quietly.

"You said that you were being scanned by a tachyon beam?" Chakotay asked. "Captain, if you'll listen to me…"

"You said that you know nothing about such things!" B'Elana replied.

"I only said that we don't own such devices, I never said that we were ignorant of them." he continued, speaking quickly in case he was cut off again; "Captain, we too are aware of the disappearances that have been occurring in the last few months. We have also lost ships, but in the process we have also been able to obtain some information that may help us right now."

"Explain." B'Elana said.

"On two occasions, just before a Terran ship vanished, they sent out an alert message mentioning being scanned by a tachyon beam, followed by a displacement wave just before disappearing."

"Do you believe that this ship is about to meet a similar fate?"

"Yes," Chakotay replied, "but we have had some time to study it, and I believe there may be some evasive manoeuvrers that could help. The _Val Jean_ survived a similar attack three weeks ago, before we were captured. If you let me or Tom Paris onto the bridge, take these chains off our hands and let me or him use your helm, we might be able to escape."

"Tom Paris?"

"One of my crewmen," he said, "about my height but lightly built. Fair-haired,Terran. One of the best ship's pilots in this Quadrant."

"I have a Klingon pilot who can outfly any Terran," B'Elana said. "You will describe those manoeuvrers now, and I will give them to him."

"Captain," Chakotay replied, "we may not have enough time for explanations. Take me or Tom to your bridge and let us steer your ship!"

"No, Terran. I am not a fool."

"You are being a fool now!"

"Silence!" B'Elana snapped … and then the ship's comm. chimed.

"_Captain, it's Seska. I have an update on the status of that tachyon beam_."

"What has changed?"

"_It's stopped, sir!_"

B'Elana heard Chakotay utter a Terran curse as the forcefield he'd thrown himself against flung him back. He got back on his feet, and made another run – only to fail again."

"Terran, you will stop this behaviour," B'Elana ordered, switching on her pain stick and nodding to the guard next to her.

"You don't understand!" Chakotay said, urgently; "we don't have much time. This is what happened the other times … after the beam stops, a displacement wave will arrive … and we will be caught in it unless we move now!"

"Then you will tell me the manoeuvrers," B'Elana said.

-o0o-

_**In the cargo bay:**_

"Kathryn, Samantha Wildman has been designated for breeding purposes," Cavitt explained, "so I think you can understand now why she is so moody. The Alliance always has a need for well-conditioned slaves, and the best ones are those who have been trained from birth, but they're still relatively few and difficult to get."

"Why did they choose her for that?" Kathryn asked. "She's not much younger than me."

"She safely birthed a Ktarian hybrid; he was that son of hers the Cardassians executed, along with her husband."

"I thought the Ktarians were sympathetic to the Alliance."

"Most of them are, but there are also many of them who prefer to stay neutral, or even some who sympathise with our rebellion," Cavitt explained. "Samantha's husband made the mistake of becoming a sympathiser, and he would have gotten away with it had some prying eyes not noticed he was treating his slave with unusual consideration, as if she was his wife instead of a possession. Which, of course, Samantha was…" he looked meaningfully at Kathryn, and continued; "… I should know; I was the one who married them. I used to be a Starfleet Captain back then, so I could do that. But in the end, all that cost him and their son their lives when they were executed for treason. Samantha was only spared because she was legally still chattel, and therefore not considered fully responsible for her decisions."

"What will they do with her?"

"They will breed her as continually as they can, for as long as they can make her," Cavitt said, "and they will take her offspring away for training as soon as they can be weaned. If she manages to survive past her childbearing years, she'll be put to work in some lab or engine room until she dies. It's not exactly the best kind of future a slave can look forward to. I should know, that happened to two of my nieces."

"I'm sorry…"

"Save your sympathy," Cavitt replied, gruffly. "Keep your thoughts to your own survival. Anyway, both of them are in a better place now, and can't be used anymore."

"Your nieces?" Kathryn asked, "they're dead?" He nodded blankly. "Yes," he said, "they're both gone."

For a few minutes, the two remained respectfully silent, before Kathryn spoke up again.

"When I was being examined, the Klingon who took me mentioned a number of things she thought I could be used for," she said. "Mostly entertainment, or artisan."

"You could be lucky," Cavitt said, "though entertaining can include comfort work. Have you done such things before?"

"No," she said, "I haven't."

"Then you might start thinking of how you can prepare yourself, in case that's expected of you."

"Surely they wouldn't want me for that," she said, "not with that scar down my face."

"You'd be surprised how attractive that might make you to a Klingon." Cavitt replied, "Kathryn, you may need to be ready for that possibility."

But Kathryn shook her head, "no, I don't want to think too much about it now. It's been almost two weeks since I've had a panic episode, and I don't want to do anything that might undo the good that the meld has done me. Tuvok said that the effect would eventually wear off, and I needed to use this time to strengthen myself, so that I'll be able to keep my control after then."

"I understand," he said, "but I wish I could truthfully say that you won't get used again. But I can't, and I'm not going to falsely comfort you with delusions about what you could be facing. I knew a few entertainers among my fellow slaves, and I do know that all of them were worked extremely hard, often harder than many of the manual workers. You will be called on to perform your craft at any time, and you will be expected to do so flawlessly, often for up to many hours. When you're not performing, you will be practising under supervision, and your teachers will be ruthless with you, and they will expect perfection from the start. If you should falter or make a mistake, you will be beaten or subjected to a punishment device…"

"I've already been in captivity for five years, Mr. Cavitt," Kathryn replied. "I do know something of slave life, and what's expected of us."

"You were a manual worker, weren't you?"

"I was," she affirmed; "I worked in the engineering section of Korik Nor, as well as twice on a Cardassian freighter. A lot of the work I had to do was extremely delicate. I don't think getting the key and sequence right on a Klingon opera should be much more difficult."

"You have a point," Cavitt said, "but skilled as you may be, don't expect your new life to be easier than your old one. Try to be prepared for anything."

-o0o-

_**On the bridge:**_

B'Elana arrived back on the _Leng's_ bridge, and took her seat as Gorok returned to his post.

"Any changes?" she asked Seska.

"None since the beam stopped scanning us," Seska replied. "It's been very quiet."

"Too quiet!" B'Elana said. "I have obtained some information from the Terran captain that may be useful in our situation. The Betazoid confirmed his truthfulness, but I've given her to Lermar to ensure that she was not collaborating with him."

Gorok and Seska smirked, both knowing how Lermar liked to conduct his 'interrogations'.

"Nevertheless, I will risk using some of that information," B'Elana continued. "Remain on red alert, and divert all main sensors to detect any further signs of abnormal tachyon activity _and_ displacement waves."

"Displacement waves?" Seska turned around in alarm. "Captain, those are extremely rare in nature, and no civilisation that we know of has the ability to generate sufficient power to harness such forms of energy!"

"Yet the Terran believed that such a phenomena was responsible for the recent ship disappearances, and he also told me that he had recently been able to evade one with a simple manoeuvrer."

"Will you trust a Terran's word on this?"

"I will trust what my own senses show me," B'Elana replied. "Return to your task, and keep watch for a displacement wave."

"Will you program the manoeuvrer into the computer?" Gorok asked.

"No," B'Elana said, "I will not trust the Terran that far. If such a wave comes, and we are in its path, I will give you the orders myself."

"Aye, Captain."

Time seemed to drag on after that as the _Leng_, now out of warp, continued forward on impulse drive, while everyone on the bridge waiting for the displacement wave that the Terran had said was coming. As she slowly counted the minutes, B'Elana began to wonder if Chakotay had in fact been attempting to guide their ship into a rebel trap…

"Captain!" Seska suddenly said, "I have just detected something … it's a displacement wave heading our way, from the same direction that the tachyon beam originated. It's massive … and it's moving very fast!"

"Time to impact?"

"I estimate … thirty seconds!" she replied.

"Evasive manoeuvrers!" B'Elana snapped to her helmsman. "Turn the ship around until we are at a right-angle to the wave's trajectory, and then go to maximum warp on my mark!"

"Turning the ship now," the Klingon replied, after a few seconds he added. "Ready for maximum warp!"

"Engage!" B'Elana said. The stars on the viewscreen turned into streaks as the ship jumped to full warp. "Status on the wave!" she demanded.

"It's still coming," Seska said; "now twenty seconds … Captain! The wave is distorting!"

"What do you mean?"

"It's … it's like it's bending to follow us. At current warp we should have almost been past the wave front by now, but instead we are still in its centre!"

B'Elana cursed again, and vowed – if they survived - to suitably punish Chakotay for suggesting such a worthless manoeuvrer. She switched on her comm. and barked a ship-wide alert:

"All hands, brace for impact!" Turning back to Gorok, she ordered; "Evasive manoeuvrers Gorok, your choice!"

"Aye, Captain!" – the bridge shuddered as Gorok twisted the _Leng_ into a sharp, desperate vector change.

"Five seconds to impact!"

B'Elana dug her fingers hard into the arm of her chair as Gorok spun the ship again, hoping to dive under a weak spot he'd just detected in the wave's intensity.

"One second to impact!" Seska said, and then…

-o0o-

_**In the cargo bay:**_

The intercom had been switched off at the cargo bays where the slaves were held, so B'Elana's alert did not reach Kathryn or most of the other captives. She was still talking with Cavitt, both unaware of the coming threat when suddenly, everything around her lurched violently upside down. Amid the screams and tumbling bodies, she only just managed to get a grip on a bulkhead and hang on for life … screaming for Cavitt, Juliet … anybody…

-o0o-


End file.
